


Glass Clouds

by vaulthunter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, PTSD, This isn't really a romantic fic, hawke's relationship with anders can be interpreted either way i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaulthunter/pseuds/vaulthunter
Summary: Hawke is fine. Or so she keeps insisting.





	

Mona was fine.

Her mother was dead, murdered at the hands of a twisted blood mage, but that blood mage was dead. Mona killed him herself. There was no reason for her to let a thirst for justice and vengeance fog her heart and make her insane. And Mother hadn't really been happy since before Father died. She always talked about how happy she would be when she got to see him again at the Maker's side, much more Carver and Bethany. She was with the people she loved, where ever people you love go when they die. 

So why should Mona weep and crumble? She was fine.

"Aveline, you can stop looking at me like I'm a wounded puppy," she quipped towards the guard-captain. "I'm fine."

"Hawke, you can't be fine," Aveline responded softly. "You know you don't have to put up a front for us."

They were seated in Varric's suite within the Hanged Man, pining over an abandoned game of diamondback. Mona rolled her eyes. Everyone kept telling her that - _you can't be fine, you have to be depressed_ \- and they kept giving her that _look_ , like they were waiting for her to break down any minute now. Quite frankly, she was tired of people telling her how she should feel. 

"I'm _fine,_ Aveline," she insisted. "My mother is with my father and Carver and Bethany now. It's what she's always wanted. And besides, she isn't really gone. She's watching over me, I know she is." There was no possible way she could be this calm if her mother wasn't watching over her. Sure, she couldn't see her, she couldn't touch her, but she felt her presence. In the empty halls of the mansion, in the patchwork blankets she made for her children when they were babes, in the way the clouds aligned, in the ghosts of touches and kisses. 

Mother wasn't really gone. Nobody was ever _really_ gone.

Aveline regarded Mona with a look of pity, but she didn't press the matter. That wasn't her way. 

But it was Varric's. "Let's get some air, Chuckles," he said, rising from his chair before she could protest. 

Mona smiled and shook her head with a scoff, then rose and followed the dwarf outside. Upon stepping over the threshold of the Hanged Man's entrance, her eyes immediately flickered to the clouds, searching for signs of her mother. She could remember this being the way she comforted the twins after Father died. _Look, Bethany, that one's a flame, for all the fire spells he taught you. Look, Carver, a mabari. Father's probably tossing a stick right now for that pup you lost a couple years ago._ But Mona had been 'too old' to believe in those things, so there was never a cloud for her. 

There was now, though. _There's the tree I used to hide in whenever she scolded me,_ Mona thought, gazing up at the tree-shaped flume of white hanging in the sky. _She couldn't find me for hours. I thought she'd yell at me more when she did find me, but she didn't. She just hugged me and thanked the Maker I was safe._

"Hawke."

Her gaze snapped to Varric. "Yes?"

He watched her for a moment, his expression a mix of pain and sympathy. A flicker of a reassuring smile graced his lips before he raised a mug of ale to her. "Drink?" he offered.

"I'm pretty sure we can do that inside the tavern, too, Varric," Mona chuckled.

"Take the mug, Hawke."

Her smile faltered, but she obliged with a roll of her eyes. When she outstretched her hand to take it, her fingers began trembling violently as all feeling in them ebbed away. The numbness trailed up her arm like tendrils, sucking the nerves from her skin. She clenched her jaw and tried to steady her hand enough to take the mug, but the moment her fingers clasped around it, she dropped it. It fell to the ground with an almost overwhelmingly loud shatter.

"I'm sorry," she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to clean it up. She had to clean it up. Mother always cleaned up her messes. She had to take up that task now. _Even though she's not gone. She's not gone._ She scrabbled for the pieces of glass, blood beginning to seep through her shaking hands, but she couldn't feel the cuts the glass inflicted. She couldn't feel anything. "I'm sorry, Varric, I didn't mean -"

"Mona. _Mona,_ " Varric stressed, kneeling and grabbing hold of her shoulders to steady her and grab her attention. "Mona, stop." He grabbed her wrists and yanked her hands away from the glass. "You need to see Anders," he told her, raising his voice to make sure he was being heard. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe she was imagining his voice. She looked up towards the clouds frantically. Varric gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. " _You need to see Anders,_ " he repeated, louder.

"Why?" she asked, not entirely sure it was her voice. "I'm fine. I just need to clean this up." She couldn't feel her arms. Why couldn't she feel her arms? Maybe she overlooked a wound from that last battle. The left side of her chest was beginning to throb - maybe that's where the wound was. She looked up at the clouds.

Varric began tugging her to her feet, ignoring her protests, and practically dragged her back towards the tavern. "Blondie!" he yelled through the crack in the door.

Half a moment later, Anders was in front of her with a concerned expression, his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, let's go to my clinic. I got it from here, Varric." 

He turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, taking her from Varric's lead and guiding her through the streets of Lowtown. "I'm not fine, am I?" she asked him, her knees beginning to wobble.

"No," Anders answered softly.

"I can't feel my arms," she sobbed. "I can't... What's happening to me?" She stumbled, but Anders caught her and steadied her. _He always does._

"Stay with me," he told her, his voice as comforting and gentle as his arms. "Just focus on breathing. I can walk for you. It's alright."

Her gaze flickered to the clouds. _A rabbit, just there. Bethany's pet rabbit that Mother loved to groom._ Her breaths became haggard and she reminded herself to focus on that, like Anders told her to. _Breathe. One. Two. Three. In and out. Slow and steady._ When next she collapsed, she was within the familiar walls of Anders' clinic.

"Lay down," Anders told her, easing her onto the cot. "Drink this." He brought something to her lips and tipped it into her mouth. It was a starch, chalky, foul-tasting liquid that did not go easy down her throat.

The world blackened.

**X X X**

"How's she doing, Blondie?" Varric asked quietly.

Anders stood hugging his staff, leaning on it. His gaze moved over to the sleeping form of his dearest friend, a frown on his lips. "Leandra's death traumatized her, that much is clear," he said. He paused for a moment, chewing his lip, eyeing the dark-haired girl. The red paint on her lips was smeared and her hair was tangled and disheveled, all color from her skin drained. "She isn't fine, no matter how much she persists." 

"I figured as much."

"Had she gone on like this for a day longer, she would have had a heart attack," he continued with a sigh. "I've done what I can. You should go to Aveline and get her to tell the Viscount to back off for a while, or something. Hawke can't go on like this. She needs to grieve."

Varric moved over to her, heaving a deep breath as he took her hand in his. "And she won't, so long as there's one more mission," he said.

Anders inclined his head in agreement. 

A moment of silence passed before Varric raised his head and turned away from Hawke. "Broody's on his way down here. He'll want to be here when she wakes, so try to get along, will you? Find something in common and bank on it. For Hawke."

"I'm more inclined to agreeable silence, but fine." Though Anders couldn't see why, Fenris was important to Mona. It wasn't within his rights to keep him from her. 

"I'll go see Aveline. Take care of her. Maker knows she can't do it herself." He clapped Anders on the forearm, then made his leave.

The exhausted mage moved over to the stool beside the cot Mona lay in and sat down. He leaned his forehead against the head of his staff, sighing. "Not all of your family is gone, Hawke," he murmured, moving his hand to hers.


End file.
